Days of Sunshine, Days of Shadow
by TracyJean
Summary: The Rabb family face joy and challenges after Harm returns from his deployment on the SeaHawk. NOTE - This story takes place in the same timeline as my 'Calendar Girl' stories most of which are not posted here as they are adults-only stories - any stories not on can be found on my website .
1. Chapter 1

SATURDAY, 3 AUGUST 2002  
HARM AND MAC'S HOUSE  
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

"Hey, little girl," I say in a quiet tone as I lift a sobbing Tori out of her crib, cradling her against my chest. "Daddy's got you." I can't help but smile as she immediately stops crying, her blue eyes focusing on mine as I carry her to the changing table. "That's right. You know Daddy will take care of you."

It is almost impossible to describe what I felt a month ago when I stepped onto the dock in Norfolk and Mac placed Tori in my arms for the first time. As I had gazed down at my baby girl and whispered, "She's beautiful," her eyes had moved from her mother's face to mine. All the singing to Mac's stomach before I deployed, as well as a pair of headphones – one of my Christmas presents to Mac – so that Mac could play my message tapes to Tori post-deployment had obviously paid off. As our eyes locked, every fear I'd ever had about my baby girl not knowing me evaporated. Despite being gone for the first twelve weeks of her life, Tori knew who I was.

"Definitely time for a new diaper," I say as I pull her sleeper off of her and toss it towards the hamper in the corner. I keep up a dialogue with her as I gather what I need. "Mommy's silly, you know. Now that Daddy's home, she thinks she can be lazy and sleep in while Daddy takes care of everything. Not that Daddy minds taking care of such an angelic baby. But Daddy never thought he'd see the day when he'd beat Mommy out of bed in the morning, what with her internal clock. What did you do, wear her out for the last few months?"

Tori laughs as if she understands everything I'm saying, wiggling around on the table as I try to remove her diaper. I quickly learned after I got home that she likes to move around – a lot. Mac jokes that it is because Tori got so cramped up in the womb at the end. As predicted early on, she inherited my long limbs, plus she tipped the scales at just under nine pounds at birth. She apparently likes having the freedom to move around now. My mother has already warned me to just wait until she starts crawling and later walking. I was told that if Tori is anything like me, she'll be near impossible to keep up with.

I get her diaper changed with an efficiency that belies how short a time I've been doing this, and then balance her on my right arm while I rummage through the closet for her clothes for the day. Mac has said that she never imagined that I would take such delight in picking out our little girl's clothes. _I just want my beautiful baby girl to look her best_, I said at the time.

_Who would have ever imagined that Harmon Rabb would be turned into a big marshmallow by a baby? _Mac had teased.

I stop on a yellow dress with lots of ruffles and hold it out for Tori. "What do you think?" Of course, Tori doesn't reply and just looks up at me with a toothless grin.

"Maybe not," I say, putting the dress back. "Probably a little too much for August. It's supposed to be hot and humid today, as usual." After going through a few more dresses, I come upon a white sundress with tiny purple flowers and a matching headband. Tori reaches out and grabs at the dress. "Looks like this is the one then."

With her constant movement, it takes a few minutes to settle her enough to get the dress and headband on. Once that's done, she promptly reaches for her head and tries to push the headband off. "No," I laugh as I reach for her hand, her fingers curling around one of mine. "Leave it on so you can show Mommy how pretty you are."

I glance at the baby monitor with concern. I would have thought Mac would hear us in here and come join us. I know she has been exhausted, doing so much on her own for so long, and she has been sleeping more than usual since I got home. It's not exactly my area of expertise, but I would have thought she would be more rested now after almost a month with another pair of hands. Tori is not that fussy a baby thankfully, and she is almost sleeping through the night already.

"Well, why don't we go see if we can get Mommy up?" I tell Tori. "I'm sure you're ready for breakfast."

Mac looks dead to the world as Tori and I enter the master bedroom. She's sprawled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around a pillow. I sit down on the bed with Tori in my lap and brush Mac's hair back from her face. She stirs, but doesn't wake up.

"Up and at 'em, Marine," I say using my best command voice.

Mac's eyes flicker open for a moment before closing again. "Harm," she murmurs wearily. "What time is it?"

"Having a baby has really messed with your internal clock," I tease. I've noticed that it's not the first time she's lost track of the time since I've been home. Under other circumstances, I might be worries, but she's been through a lot the last seven months. "It's 0654 according to the alarm clock."

"So tired," she says, reaching out blindly towards us. Tori giggles and grabs at her mother's hand, trying to grasp the diamond of her engagement ring. Mac opens her eyes again and slides closer to us, putting her hand on Tori's tummy. "Don't you look pretty this morning?"

"Tori helped me pick out her dress," I say, grabbing Tori's other hand as she tries to push off her headband again.

Mac laughs weakly. "Daddy, you're fighting a losing battle there," she says. "She plays with her headbands more than she wears them."

"Well, since Mommy has now seen you and complimented you on your looks," I say with a grin, "I guess it's okay." Tori suddenly stops trying to take off her headband and starts fussing. "Oops. I guess she remembered that it's breakfast time."

Slowly, obviously still sleepy, Mac pushes herself up, propping herself against the headboard with pillows at her back. As she unbuttons her pajama top, I gather Tori against me, trying to soothe her until Mac is ready. "It's okay," I whisper, rocking her in my arms. "Mommy's going to feed you in a minute."

Mac holds out her arms and I pass Tori to her. As Tori settles in to nurse, I slid closer to Mac and drape my arm over her shoulder. She rests her head against my shoulder as she yawns heavily.

"Hey, Mac, are you okay?" I ask.

"I don't know why I'm so tired," she admits. "I guess I'm not bouncing back as quickly as I thought I would, especially now that you're home and taking some of the middle of the night feedings. I hope now that she's sleeping more at night, I'll get caught up soon."

"Have you mentioned it to Doctor Miller?"

"Harm, there's been a lot going on," Mac says insistently. "I just had a baby a few months ago and you were gone for six months. That's enough to throw anyone out of whack. I don't need my OB to tell me that."

Typical. I'm sure she's been dealing with this the same way she dealt with things during the long months while I was gone – by being the strong Marine who won't admit if she needs help. I heard from more than one person – Harriet, Chaplain Turner, Sergei, my mother – that Mac's standard response when she was asked how she was and if she needed anything was that she was just fine and would let them know if she needed something. Not knowing her as well as I do, I'm sure everyone took her at face value.

"What about your workload?" I ask. Since she had an uncomplicated pregnancy and delivery, she got the standard six-week leave the military grants all new mothers, so she's already been back at work for over two months except for the week of vacation she took when I returned from deployment.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to help with the workload. The Admiral has been trying since before I returned to get me back at JAG, even if "unofficially" in a way similar to Harriet's position with the IG's office, but he's gotten resistance. Although I'm not sure, I wouldn't be surprised if that came from the SECNAV - he never has liked me. I'm sure he wouldn't mind seeing 'Harmful' Rabb left in career purgatory for a while….a long while.

The most the Admiral has been able to do so far is keep me assigned to Washington flying CAP out of Andrews AFB, which didn't exactly please the CAG on the _SeaHawk_, who wanted to keep me attached to VF-31, as we had developed a good working relationship during my time as XO of the squadron. He did back down when I made it clear that I was willing to take a career hit to stay with my family since Mac is not looking at a transfer anytime soon between having Tori and there being no open O-5 slots in Norfolk's JAG office. My aviation career has already cost us a lot. This time I'm putting Mac and our daughter first.

Anyway, that business with the dirty nuke back in May made me take a hard look at my career as an aviator. I almost orphaned my month-old daughter before I'd ever laid eyes on her. Hell, I even questioned my Navy career in the back of my mind after Bud stepped on that landmine. Being in a "safe" designator didn't save him from losing his leg. I would never leave the Navy – at least not until my twenty is up in a few years if it comes to that - but I can do everything possible to break the cycle of Rabb men leaving their families way too soon. I'm not the same man who would have done a HA-LO jump with SeALs without thinking in his younger days.

"It's not that bad," she says. "The Admiral has been keeping me on a relatively light workload since I returned to work. No out of town investigations, obviously. Having Sturgis around has helped, as has Commander Manetti who transferred in after you left. We're short a junior attorney again now that Singer is replacing Bud on the _SeaHawk_, but the Admiral and I have been looking over personnel files this last week so we can fill that position. I've actually been catching some of the less major cases that Singer or Bud would have handled, which helps me out a lot."

"I wish I could help out," I say. "Aside from getting to see you at work every day, sounds like you guys can really use the extra pair of hands."

"Unfortunately," she says wistfully, "that's not going to happen, at least not right now. " She looks up at me, her brown eyes still clouded with sleep and she unsuccessfully tries to stifle another yawn. "Has there been any word on that?"

I shrug. "Not really," I reply. "The Admiral is getting resistance from above when he tries to present any options that would bring me back to JAG, even unofficially. I think he's looking for a position at the Pentagon that might interest me, like the one I was being considered for before September 11th. Until then, I keep flying CAP out of Andrews and do some side work modifying their RoE as new situations come up."

"I'm sorry, Harm," she says, stretching up to kiss my jaw. "I know flying CAP isn't exactly your speed. But I would think saving over 5000 lives with your stunt would help buy you a favor or two." She looks down at Tori, who has finished nursing and is just resting her head against Mac's breast. "Can you get me a burp cloth?"

"Here, I'll take her back," I say, draping the cloth I'd brought in with me earlier over my shoulder. Mac hands her over and buttons her top back up. I settle Tori against my shoulder, gently patting her back. "I guess the Navy figures that a Silver Cross is enough repayment for that stunt, as you call it."

"Silver Cross?" she muses with obvious pride in her voice. "So is that official now?"

"The CAG officially notified me yesterday," I explain. We've known this was possibly coming – the CAG told me he had put me in for the award the day the ship docked in Norfolk. It's just that now everything has been signed off on. "So what do you think of showing our baby girl where Mommy and Daddy met?"

"Another White House ceremony?" Mac says with a slow smile spreading across her face. I know the memories are replaying for her just as they did for me when I was told. In a way, it's like we're coming full circle, going back as a family to where it all began.

"It was a highly-publicized incident," I say. "The Navy feels they can generate some positive press with a public ceremony, especially now with all the tension over possibly going into Iraq. Sturgis will be receiving a Bronze Star for his role on the _Watertown_, as will the other pilots involved in the incident."

"So when is the ceremony going to be?" she asks in the midst of another yawn.

"I'm not sure yet," I reply. "Now that everything is official, I imagine they're trying to coordinate with the President's schedule. I've been told maybe a month or two."

"Good," Mac says with a sigh. "Maybe I'll finally have lost these last ten pounds by then and will fit into my dress uniform, especially since my PFT will be coming up soon after that."

I look at her quizzically. "You look fine to me." Okay, maybe there is still a little more to her now, but she isn't fat by any means, or even close to being overweight. She did just have a baby. I don't think it's enough to put her over the weight limit according to Marine regs, since Mac has always leaned towards the thin side that I've noticed.

"Good answer, husband dear," Mac laughs. "Seriously, though, I'm supposed to be ready for my PFT six months after giving birth, which will be mid-October, and these last few pounds just won't go away."

As she yawns again, I suggest, "Why don't we get out the jogging stroller and take a jog around the neighborhood before it gets too hot out? Maybe it will help you wake up, too."

"Sounds good, I guess," Mac says, but without much enthusiasm in her voice. That's odd. Jogging is something we've always enjoyed doing together almost from the beginning, not to mention the fact that she was just complaining about needing to drop a few more pounds.

"Mac, we don't…"

"No, it's okay," she says, climbing out of bed, running her hands through her mused hair as she heads for the bathroom. "Maybe it will help wake me up. I know if I don't get up and do something, I'll just fall back asleep."

Maybe Mac's right. Maybe this is just residual from having a baby, doing so much on her own for so long and everything else. "What do you think, Tori?" I wonder as she tries to stuff the corner of the burping cloth in her mouth. "Think there's something we can do to make things easier for Mommy?"


	2. Chapter 2

TUESDAY, 6 AUGUST 2002  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

"Got a minute, Mac?" Sturgis asks as he pokes his head in my door and holds up a folder. "I've got the finalized plea agreement for Petty Officer Cline, signed off on by the convening authority."

I motion him to enter. He hands me the folder and takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. "Thanks," I say, opening the folder and beginning to read through the document. Sturgis has done his usual thorough job. He's certainly been an asset to this office since he transferred here. As shorthanded as we've been, I don't know what we would have done without him the last year.

The quiet and steadying presence he brings to the office has been a somewhat welcome change, as I teasingly told Harm a few months ago. As much as I love my husband, I don't always miss some of his antics. Harm got a big kick out of that and reminded me that I fell in love with that part of him, too. Yeah, I did, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the occasional peace now. It's not like the last time he returned to flying, when there seemed to be this enormous hole in the fabric of the office, and I almost would have welcomed an HNK going off in court. Now, I can handle the absence and the quiet because I know that at the end of the day, I've still got him in my life.

As I near the end of the document, I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale a sharp breath through my mouth. Damned sinuses. The last couple of days have been so miserable that I've reluctantly forgone my new habit of a nightly walk around the neighborhood with Harm, Tori and Jingo. I want to spend as little time outdoors as possible right now. There are just too many allergens in the air and the over the counter stuff has not had any affect. Too bad my sinus problems don't really explain my extreme fatigue recently. It's just something else on top of that.

I look up from the folder as I grab the bottle of water off my desk. "Looks good, Sturgis," I say, and then take a sip of water. "I've got an appointment with my client on Friday, so I'll get him to sign off on it then and we can put this one behind us."

"Are you okay, Mac?" Sturgis asks. "You sound a little congested."

I sigh. He's not the first person to notice or comment on that the last two days. "Allergies, sinuses," I reply, "the normal hazards of living in DC in August. No wonder the rest of the government hightails it out of town during the month."

He smiles at that. "Bobbie said that was the heat and humidity," he says.

"So how are things between you and the Congresswoman?" I ask. Sturgis had been asked to do some liaison work with the Armed Services committee, similar to what Harm did a few years ago, and he and Bobbie Latham apparently hit it off. They've been seeing each other for a few months now.

"Things are fine," he replies. "She's busy campaigning back home for the mid-terms, but we've been keeping in touch via e-mail." He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but seemingly thinks better of it. I think I know what that's about.

"Let me guess," I say. "Harm and the Congresswoman?"

Sturgis shrugs. "I've heard some things," he admits.

"That was a couple of years ago," I explain, "and it barely lasted long enough to register as a blip on the radar. Their personalities didn't really mesh."

"I can see that." I bet he can. He's certainly known Harm long enough to have a pretty good understanding of his personality.

"You know, if you want to know more, maybe you should ask Bobbie," I say, and then wince. When did I turn into Dear Abby? Given my track record before Harm and I finally got it together, I'm hardly one to be giving relationship advice.

"Instead of talking to Harm's wife about it?" he asks with a grin.

I take another swig of water. "I don't have a problem with Bobbie," I say, "and I didn't back then, either." Not really, anyway. Actually, compared to some of the other women who have passed through Harm's life, she was pretty benign. "I had some things going on in my own life then, so it's not particularly a time I care to recall all that much."

That's putting it mildly. My life at the time was a federal disaster area. Chris came back into my life. The story of my relationship with John was revealed. Mic entered my life. And Harm wasn't there for me the way I wanted and needed him to be when things started going to hell. Maybe I would have been able to put a stop to the downward slide earlier if I'd been able to go to Harm from the beginning. Thank God I don't have to worry about that anymore.

"Yeah, I've heard some things about that, too," he says.

"I'll just bet you have," I mutter. "I know how the grapevine works around here." Sometimes I'm surprised that Harm and I were able to keep our relationship under wraps to the office at large as long as we were. We've certainly provided enough grist for the mill over the years, both separately and together. Maybe nobody ever expected us to figure it out, so there was a lot of shock when we finally did. The news of my pregnancy certainly helped contribute to that shock.

Sturgis starts to say something else, but Harriet knocks on my open door and sticks her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Sir, Ma'am," she says. "Colonel, I have those files you requested."

"Come on in, Harriet," I say.

"We were just about finished here, Lieutenant," Sturgis adds, sounding almost glad to get out of this conversation. Well, he was the one who started it. Mentally, that sounds just a little childish, but my head hurts so much that I don't care. "Mac, just let me know once your client has signed on the dotted line and I'll get the plea agreement filed with the court."

"No problem, Sturgis," I say, setting the folder on top of one of the piles on my desk so I'll be able to find it later.

As he gets up to leave, Sturgis turns to Harriet. "How is your husband doing, Lieutenant?" he asks.

"He's hanging in there, Commander," Harriet replies. "It's a lot to get used to with the new prosthetic. Your father has been a big help, too." Chaplain Turner has been counseling Bud on dealing with the emotional aspects of his injury, and I know Harriet has spoken to the chaplain a time or two as well.

"I know he's happy to help," Sturgis says. "Tell Lieutenant Roberts that I'm keeping him in my prayers."

"I will, Sir," Harriet says. "Thank you."

As Sturgis returns to his own office – formerly Bud's – Harriet takes a seat in the chair he just vacated. She looks as exhausted as I've been feeling lately, which is certainly understandable. Her life right now makes mine like look like an ocean of calm by comparison. She had taken a leave of absence after Bud was flown back to the U.S., but with him in physical therapy now learning how to walk with his new leg, she's returned to work 'to help keep her mind from dwelling too much,' as she told me last week.

She hands me the folders in her hand. "I found most of what you requested," she explains as I flip through the folders. "There's one case file I haven't been able to find – it looks like it may be misfiled – but I've got one of the petty officers down in storage looking for it."

"The one that may provide that precedent I'm looking for regarding the Nichols' case?" I ask after I've gone through what she has given me.

"That's it, Ma'am," she says. She studies me for a moment, biting on her lower lip. "Do you mind if I ask you something, Ma'am?"

"Of course not, Harriet. What is it?"

"Are you taking anything for your respiratory problem?" she asks. "You sound like you've come down with something."

"Allergies and sinuses," I say. "I've been taking Benadryl, for all the good it's done."

"I was just thinking that with a baby at home," she explains, "that you might want to see a doctor and make sure it isn't an infection. That stuff can linger, and you don't want her to come down with anything."

That thought occurred to me this morning when I noticed that my throat was starting to hurt. I usually just ride these things out, but it's not just me that I have to worry about now. Neither Tori nor Harm have shown any signs of getting sick, but that doesn't mean they won't if whatever I've got hangs around for a while. "But I'm still breastfeeding," I point out. I was hesitant to take something as harmless as Benadryl for that very reason.

"Remember when I had that real bad cough when AJ was about six months old?" she asks. I nod. It was right after Harm had returned to JAG, and when he came down with the same cough, I heard him remark to Bud that it was a good thing he was not on active flight status. "I figured that if I was sick, AJ would have already caught it, and I didn't want him to be exposed to any medication he shouldn't be in my breast milk. The Admiral finally ordered me to sick call, and it turns out that I had bronchitis. I was able to take antibiotics. The doctor said that with a few exceptions, most antibiotics are safe for nursing mothers to take."

"I noticed that I was starting to get a sore throat this morning," I admit. "That's usually been a sign in the past that I have a sinus infection."

"If it is, you really should get that taken care of, Ma'am," Harriet says. "Believe me. You'd rather not deal with a sick baby. And if the Commander gets sick, wouldn't he be grounded?"

That's true. If Harm so much as comes down with a cold, he can't go up. Even if flying CAP isn't exactly thrilling in the way flying off a carrier is, just being able to fly almost daily is a pretty good trade-off for not being able to be with me at JAG.

It takes some getting used to the fact that I can't just do what I've always done in a situation like this. As a mother herself, Harriet has been a godsend in helping me figure out what to do – and what not to do – the last few months.

"I guess I'll talk to the Admiral about going to sick call tomorrow morning," I say. "Thanks for the advice, Harriet. By the way, I wanted to ask you something. How would you feel about holding the reception after Tori's baptism at my house? That way you don't have to worry about hosting a party on top of everything else."

Tori's baptism is in two and a half weeks and, of course, Bud and Harriet are going to stand as her godparents as Harm and I did for little AJ. When Harriet and I had lunch after the baptismal preparation session a few weeks after Tori was born, she had already been planning to host a reception. I think part of it was that she wanted to show off her new house, which she had closed on a few days before Tori was born. But that was before Bud lost his leg.

Harm and I had brought up the idea of postponing the baptism a couple of weeks ago, but Bud had insisted that it go forward as planned. Standing up for five minutes during church, however, is different than hosting a bunch of people at your house for a party. Harm and I both got the impression that Bud wasn't all that thrilled about the party but was reluctant to put his foot down with Harriet. She can be a force sometimes and maybe she thinks having all those people around for such a happy occasion will help cheer things up around her place.

"I don't know," Harriet said. "It's Tori's special day. You shouldn't have to worry about setting up a party and cleaning up afterwards."

"It is okay, Harriet," I explain. "Harm's mother asked us last week if we wanted help to set up a buffet or something after church for all our friends. I told her that you had already said you would host a get-together, but Harm and I were thinking about it later. We thought we could combine the two. You and Bud as godparents can still play host, just at our place, and Harm's family can help with everything else. If Bud gets tired, you can just head home instead of trying to kick everyone out of your house."

"I guess that's true," she says a little reluctantly. She definitely wants to show off that house, doesn't she? "I'll mention it to Bud and see what he thinks."

"Okay," I say with a nod. I'm positive Bud will agree. "Just let me know as soon as possible so I can tell Trish."

"I'll do that," she promises. She glances at her watch. "If there's nothing else, Ma'am, I'm securing early today. AJ has an appointment this afternoon. He's starting preschool in a couple of weeks, so I need to take him for a physical."

"They grow up so fast, don't they?" I muse. It seems like just yesterday that we were all marveling over Harriet's beautiful baby boy, and Harm and I were making a certain deal on the front steps. How much longer until I wonder where all the time went with my little girl? "It seems like Tori changes every day."

"That they do, Ma'am," Harriet says with a smile. "That they do."

"Get going, Harriet," I say, opening one of the case files Harriet gave me. "Tell AJ that I said 'hi'."

"Yes, Ma'am."

THAT EVENING  
HARM AND MAC'S HOUSE  
ROSSYLN, VIRGINIA

"Supper will be ready in about half an hour," Harm says as he comes into the living room. I'm lying on the couch under a light blanket. He picks Tori up out of her play pen – where I put her once we got home so I could keep an eye on her while I rested - and bounces her in his arms, eliciting giggles. He studies me for a moment and then leans over me, pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. "You feel a little warm."

I can't help but laugh a little. "What are you now?" I tease. "Mr. Mom?"

I turn on my side and curl up, making room for him on the couch. He sits down and settles Tori in his lap. "I did a lot of reading while I was deployed, and Bud shared some things he learned with AJ," he explains. "Some things apply to Mommy as much as baby, like checking for a fever. Want me to get the thermometer?"

"Well, you don't need to worry," I say. "I talked to the Admiral before I came home. I'm going to sick call in the morning. Harriet said that the doctor can prescribe something that won't affect Tori….assuming antibiotics would help."

"I'll take Tori's feedings for now," Harm says. "There's plenty of milk in the fridge. You can get some extra sleep tonight."

I gently kick his leg. The movement attracts Tori, and she leans over and tries to grab at my foot. I kick the blanket off my feet and wiggle my toes at her, which she finds entertaining. "In case you haven't noticed," I remind him, "sleep hasn't exactly been a problem for me lately."

Harm gets a thoughtful look on his face. "Think it's related?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so," I reply. "I've been exhausted a lot longer than I've been having this sinus problem. I usually have problems getting enough sleep when I can't breathe through my nose. Not problems staying awake. I still think the sleep issue will resolve itself. It's gotten better. Remember our video conference right after you played tag with that nuke?"

"You almost fell asleep while we were on the call," he remembers. The carrier had been on a communications blackout during the incident, and I just knew enough about what was going on to know that Harm was somehow involved and to be terrified. I had spent a sleepless night waiting for news, and Tori had been especially fussy – I think because I was so antsy. I can't even remember how long I'd gone without sleep by the time I'd finally been able to see Harm on the call and reassure myself that he was okay. It was probably the most nerve-wracking time – short of when I'd been drying out as a teenager – of my life.

"I haven't nodded off at my desk," I point out, although it has been a close call once or twice at staff meetings. Those things can be boring at the best of times. "I should be able to get caught up on all the sleep I've missed once Tori is sleeping through the night all the time."

"Think you can start sleeping through the night, baby girl?" he says to Tori, who turns her head towards him at the sound of his voice and gives him a toothless grin. I smile at the sight. It's so adorable watching Harm interact with our daughter, and like many a female, she has fallen completely under his spell. "Mommy can use the sleep."

"Harm," I laugh. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," he says. "Our daughter is smart."

"Smart she may be," I retort, "but she's not just going to sleep when she's supposed to just because you tell her to." I jab him with my foot again.

"Better watch that, Marine," he says with a gleam in his eye. "I know where you're ticklish, and you're providing a very tempting target at the moment."

"Really? Two can play that game." I lift my foot and rub it against him under his rib cage, and he squirms just a little.

Harm grabs me around the ankle. "Here Tori, let me show you how to bring Mommy to her knees," he teases as he rubs his thumb along the arch of my foot.

"Harm!" I exclaim with a laugh.

Tori can't quite figure out the tickling thing, but she can and does grab for my toes, her fingernails scraping my skin. Oops. Time to trim her nails again. She laughs with Harm as I try to pull my foot away. Fortunately, I'm saved by the bell….or rather, the timer on the oven.

"Hold that thought for later," he says in a tone that promises more than a tickle game. I blush under his penetrating gaze. Even though our daughter can't understand the look that passes between us, it feels a little weird to hint about our bedtime activities in front of her. It's a strange new feeling. "I need to get dinner out of the oven."

Harm gets up, cradling Tori in the crook of one arm as he holds his other hand out to me to help me up from the couch. I take his hand and let him pull me up. "Are you sure about later?" I ask. "I am sick. I don't want you to come down with anything."

He pulls me tight against his side and wraps his arm around me, as if to show he's not worried about catching anything. "We sleep in the same bed. I would think if you were going to pass on anything you've got, it would have already happened," he points out. Of course he thinks that. Mr. Invincible, that's my husband.

"I guess," I say, not entirely convinced, "but if you get sick, you can't fly."

"I'm fine so far," he insists, "and so is Tori. I guess you're going to have to suffer this one alone."

"Jerk." I smack his shoulder to emphasize my point.

"Anyway," he continues, "I figure being grounded for a few days is a small price to pay for sharing your bed while you're sick." He leans down so that his lips are near my ear, his breath warm and delicious against my skin. Even if I didn't already have a fever, this man could certainly induce one.

"Dinner," I say regretfully with a small sigh. "And maybe I'll take a hot shower afterwards. The steam should help me breathe easier."

"I'll give Tori her bath while you're in the shower," he says. The look in his eyes, however, tells me that his mind is on the shower I mentioned and how we've generated our own type of steam there in the past. One of the side effects of having a child – we can't just have sex anymore whenever the mood strikes us. "And then later…."

"Later," I promise. "Now what about dinner?"

Harm laughs as he kisses the top of my head and then does the same for Tori. "You and your stomach," he teases.

"I will need food to keep my strength up for that later you promised," I tell him with a wink. He chuckles at the thought as he leads me into the kitchen.

* * *

Author's notes -

Originally, I said I would give you more information on this story after this part was posted, but Harm and Mac took over this part and took it places I hadn't intended to go (in other words, there will be a part 2A posted either later tonight or tomorrow to my password-protected website Nights in Navy Blue Satin), so I ended up having to split what was originally part two into parts two and three. It also kind of screws up the original plans I had for alternating POV in this story. Part one was from Harm's POV, part two is from Mac's, etc. However, what will now be part three HAS to be from Mac's POV (for reasons that are obvious when you read the story). I tried to start rewriting 2A to be from Harm's POV, so the alternating would still work correctly, but the way it starts is better from Mac's POV. I'll have to throw in an extra part later from Harm's POV to keep some balance. There will be plenty of time for both their voices to be heard in this story.

As to whether 2A is posted tonight or tomorrow at my website, that is directly proportional to how well the Texas Rangers play tonight. Texas losing badly = more writing for me because I'm trying to ignore the game. Close game or Texas winning = less writing. And no, that does not mean you are allowed to root for Texas to lose (unless you're a Baltimore fan; I guess you're exempt since they are our opponent tonight).


	3. Chapter 3

WEDNESDAY, 7 AUGUST 2002  
DILORENZO MEDICAL CLINIC  
PENTAGON  
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

"Colonel Rabb, I'm Doctor Barber," the doctor says as she breezes into the exam room with a smile on her face, holding out her hand to me. She's entirely too bright and cheerful for this early in the morning, and it's not helping my headache any. I have to stop myself from rubbing the bridge of my nose against the pain. It's just the price I have to pay for last night and not getting as much rest as I should have. Not that I'd trade what I did get instead of that extra rest. "So fill me in on what's going on."

"I've been having sinus issues since the weekend," I explain. "I usually do this time of year. But I have a pilot for a husband and a three and a half month old at home, so a friend suggested that I might want to get it checked out just in case. Yesterday evening, my husband noticed that I seem to have a fever."

The doctor takes a quick glance at the vital signs the PA had written down. "Smart man," she comments with a grin. "Your temperature is currently 99.7. Let me take a look at you."

She looks into my nose and ears with her instrument then asks me to open my mouth. "Your throat is a little red," she remarks. "Having problems with drainage?"

I nod. "A little," I admit.

"Well, your sinuses are definitely congested," she says as she places her hands on either side of my neck under my ears and begins running them down my neck. I'm not quite sure what she's looking for. Maybe she's just more thorough than other doctors I've seen before. "Sinus infections can be either viral or bacterial, but the fact that you have a fever probably means it is bacteria. I can prescribe an antibiotic for that. Are you breastfeeding your baby?"

"Yes."

"There are a few antibiotics we need to avoid," she says, "but that won't be a problem. Your file says you're allergic to penicillin?"

At my nod, she says, "I can prescribe something else."

Her hands pause at the base of my throat, right above the top button of my uniform blouse, her fingers pressing in a small circle as if she's looking for something. "Colonel, have you been having any other issues?"

I'm not sure what she's talking about or looking for. I came in for my sinuses and hadn't mentioned anything else but that to the PA when my vital signs were taken. "I've been tired a lot lately," I reply uncertainly, "but like I said, I have a baby at home and my husband just returned from deployment last month. I've been having problems losing the last of my baby weight, but I figured that was because I'd been so exhausted recently."

"When was the last time you had any blood work done?" she asks. My confusion grows. I came in here for a sinus infection and now we're talking about symptoms that have nothing to do with my sinus infection and blood work. We've taken a sharp right turn from where we started and I can't figure out why or where we're going.

"I had my annual physical last week," I reply.

"Then it's probably too soon for your results to have come back from the lab," she says, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Doctor Barber? What is it?"

"Colonel, you appear to have a nodule on your thyroid," she says.

I look at her in shock. I have no idea what the thyroid even does. "What exactly does that mean?" I ask.

"In layman's terms," she explains, "you have a lump on your thyroid. That's why I was asking if you'd had any blood work done. The thyroid makes hormones which control your metabolism, and if the amount of thyroid hormone in your body is either too high or too low, it would show up on a blood panel. If it's low, that could explain your fatigue and difficulties controlling your weight."

"So what would all this mean?" I ask, something gnawing at me in the pit of my stomach. I think that having a lump someplace where there should be one is in no way good.

"It is likely nothing," she says in a reassuring tone. "Most women develop thyroid nodules at some point in their lives and don't even realize it. Something like 50% of people have had a nodule at some point. Yours is large enough that I can see it, which is why I was checking your throat, to see if I could feel the lump. Nodules don't usually affect the function of your thyroid and you did have a baby recently, which is why I'd like to see the results of your blood work. That would tell us if your issues are related to the thyroid or just due to having a baby. Have you been having problems breathing recently?"

"Aside from my sinuses?" I say with a laugh.

"Yes," she agrees, laughing with me. "What I'm talking about would almost be a sensation of your breath getting caught in your throat."

"I'm not really sure," I say, thinking back, "but I've been stepping up my workouts to try to lose the extra weight and prepare for my PFT and it seems like I've had to catch my breath a lot more."

"That would make sense," she says thoughtfully. "The thyroid partially wraps around your larynx and trachea, and as large as the lump on your thyroid seems to be, it's likely that it is pressing in some degree against your windpipe."

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around all this. This is the last thing I expected when I walked in here a few minutes ago. She said the lump is large enough to see, but I'd never noticed anything. "So what can be done about this?" I ask.

She looks at me thoughtfully as she opens a drawer and pulls out a prescription pad. "I'd like to send you for an ultrasound," she says, "to see how large this nodule actually is and to see if you have any more."

"More?" I echo. This seems to get worse the more she speaks. She is only a civilian, so I idly wonder if I could get away with telling her to stop. But on the other hand, I need answers. I need to know what is happening to my body.

"Multiple nodules are common, Colonel," she explains patiently. "At the very least, you'll probably need to see an ENT specialist about this nodule, since it is so large in size. It may need to be surgically removed."

Now we're talking about surgery. My head is spinning for reasons that have nothing to do with the pain in my head. I need to slow this down so I can start trying to wrap my mind around it. "Can we back up a moment, Doctor?" I request. "You said I may need surgery because of the size of the nodule. What if the ultrasound shows more than one of these nodules?"

"It depends," she says as she scribbles out my prescription. "The ultrasound will tell us – particularly in the case of the large nodule I detected – whether it is a cyst or a solid mass."

"What would be the difference?" I ask.

"It it's a cyst, it may shrink on its own or it can be drained if it doesn't," she replies, "and that would be it, except for periodic examinations to make sure another cyst doesn't develop later, as they do have a tendency to recur. If it's solid, a biopsy will probably be requested…."

"Biopsy?" I interrupt without thinking. "As in cancer?" My head is spinning even more as if I'd just pulled several Gs in a Tomcat. We've jumped from a lump to surgery to cancer in just a few minutes. I swallow hard, noticing now that she's said something that it does feel like I'm trying to swallow past something in my throat.

"It's just to make sure," she says in a placating tone. "Like I said, most nodules are absolutely nothing. More than 95% of them, in fact. Ironically, the larger the nodule, usually the less likely it is to be cancerous, because nodules that large are usually cysts. If the nodule is solid and not cancerous, then surgery would likely just involve removing the side of the thyroid with the nodule. Since thyroid nodules are most often slow-growing, there would be no rush to have surgery. That would be between you and an ENT. For example, if you wanted to wait until you're no longer breastfeeding your baby, that would probably be fine."

I have to force myself to ask the next logical question. I don't want to ask it. "And if it is cancer?"

"Colonel, that's really something to discuss with the ENT if it gets that far," she begins, but stops when I shake my head.

"Doctor, I'm a lawyer," I tell her. "In my job, I have to look at all sides of argument. I need to know all the facts."

"Okay," she says, conceding the point. "Just remember that I'm not a specialist in this. You would still need surgery, but the entire thyroid would be removed instead of just the side with the nodule, and there would be a little more urgency to having the surgery, especially if the cancer has spread. I didn't feel any swollen lymph nodes when I examined you, so that's a good sign."

Something of the shock I'm feeling at all this must show on my face, because she says, "One thing at a time, Colonel," she says. "Let me get my nurse to call over to Bethesda to get you scheduled for the ultrasound."

She tears a sheet off her prescription pad and hands it to me. I glance at it and see that it's the prescription for the antibiotic she promised me. "If you'll wait here a few minutes, I'll have the nurse come in here with your appointment information."

The silence in the room is oppressive once Doctor Barber leaves the room, weighing down on me as I try to sort through all the thoughts racing through my head. My fingers go to the base of my throat, and I can feel what the doctor was talking about. The lump is so obvious that I cannot figure out how I never noticed it before. How long has it been there? I remember what she said about thyroid nodules being slow-growing, and I wonder if I've had this for months and not known it. How could it have been? Surely I would have seen it if it had been.

After six minutes and 34 seconds, an older woman dressed in scrubs comes into the room and hands me a couple of pieces of paper. The top one gives the specifics of the promised appointment at Bethesda. "Radiology had a cancellation, so they can fit you in this afternoon at 1500 for the ultrasound."

I glance at the second paper and inwardly sigh. It's my completed sick call form. It's marked 'quarters' under 'disposition of patient'. Damn, I can't just go to work until it's time to head to Bethesda for the ultrasound. Good thing that I'm not in court today. "Doctor Barber wants you off work for today," she explains. "Tomorrow, too, if you're still running a fever. Do you have any questions?"

Of course, I do. I have about a million of them, but nothing that can be answered here and now. I shake my head and force myself to reply, "No, Ma'am."

"Okay," she replies. "You have a nice day, Colonel."

"You, too," I say, stepping down from the exam table. I fold up both papers and stash them in my purse as I leave the exam room.

Exactly forty-three minutes later, I'm finally in my car, a bottle of antibiotics in my purse. I'd called the Admiral while I was waiting at the pharmacy and told him I wouldn't be in the rest of today. I left off mentioning tomorrow because I have every intention of going into work. Fortunately, I didn't have much on my plate today, mostly paperwork, so the Admiral doesn't have to do any shuffling to account for my absence. I don't tell him about the ultrasound, not yet. He doesn't need to know about that unless there turns out to be something to know.

Harm wanted me to call him, but I've been putting that off. I don't think I can explain all this over the phone. I need him with me to put his arms around me and reassure me that everything will be okay. Sighing, I grab my cell phone and dial his cell phone, which immediately goes to voice mail. Next, I dial his office phone, which also goes to voice mail, but I press 0 for immediate assistance as soon as his voice mail spiel begins.

"Sergeant Weston, 121st Fighter Squadron," says the voice that answers the phone. I almost snicker. Harm's office is in the building that houses an Air Force fighter squadron – a squid stuck in the midst of all those zoomies. It's just an occupational hazard of the Navy having no place to really put him for now. At least he's in DC – there had been talk about sticking him all the way out at Pax River, but the Admiral managed to prevent that from happening through some behind-the-scenes wrangling that he declined to share with us. Anyway, he gets to fly, so he just has to put up with some ribbing by the guys in blue around him and the occasional arguments about the merits of the F-14 versus the F-15.

"Commander Rabb, please," I say.

"I'm sorry," the sergeant says, "but Commander Rabb is not in the office. I can transfer you to his voice mail." That's odd. Harm told me yesterday that he was going to be in the office all day today when he asked me to call after seeing the doctor.

"This is his wife," I say. "Can you tell me where he is, Sergeant?"

"I'm sorry, Colonel Rabb," Weston says. I can almost hear him straightening up at his desk over the phone. I met him a couple of weeks ago when Harm gave Tori and I a tour of his office, and the sergeant is little more than a kid. I think the Marines make him nervous. "The commander said he had been expecting a call from you. One of the other pilots is ill, so Commander Rabb went up in his place for a few hours."

I'm sure Harm is thrilled, getting some extra flying time in, even if it's just flying in circles over the District. Fortunately, that gives me a last-minute reprieve and a chance to sort through my thoughts and figure out how to tell him this. "Thank you, Sergeant Weston," I say. "I was just calling to tell him that the doctor told me to stay home today. Also, please let him know that I need him to pick our daughter up from day care."

"I will do that, Colonel," he says. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, Sergeant," I say. "Thank you."

I toss the phone onto the seat beside me after I hang up. That will give me several hours at least to try to figure all this out.

* * *

THAT AFTERNOON

HARM AND MAC'S HOUSE  
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

Harm hasn't gotten home with Tori by the time I return from the ultrasound, so I let myself collapse onto our bed with a sigh. I'd asked the technician what he saw when he did the ultrasound but got absolutely nothing out of him. All he would say is that the radiologist would read it, and I would get a call once they have the results. Damn. Typical military – hurry up and wait.

After a few minutes, I push myself up and start to unbutton my blouse. Suddenly, something occurs to me and I rush into bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. Lifting my chin, I stare into the mirror, seeing what had caught Doctor Barber's attention this morning.

It's so obvious, I realize as I see the lump for the first time. How had I not seen this before? I hold my hand up to my throat and place my fingers over the mass. Even my middle three fingers don't completely cover it. It's too large not to have been seen. I should have seen this. I don't understand how I missed this.

Suddenly shaky, I sit on top of the closed toilet, clasping my hands between my knees as I take a deep breath. How did this happen? Why is it happening now?

I need to relax and all this isn't exactly helping. My gaze drifts to the whirlpool tub at the far end of the bathroom. It had been a Christmas gift from Harm, and it has certainly helped me unwind after a long day in court, or when I couldn't rest because Tori was particularly active in the womb, or when I was just missing my husband like crazy. Losing myself in the whirlpool for a while definitely couldn't hurt.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES -

I'd actually considered for a long time doing a story where Mac had problems with her thyroid, even long before I knew that I had cancer. For those of you who don't know (and I'm sure most of you already do), Catherine Bell had thyroid cancer when she was around 20, which is the source of the "cool scar" (her words) around her neck. Such a story would have been a tribute to the wonderful actress who brought Mac to life on our screens for nine years (just imagine, she is an almost-25 year cancer survivor now – that's certainly worthy of tribute). Cancer stories have been done in JAG Fanfic before, but I don't recall that anyone has done one that was very real to one of the actors.

Now, I actually know what I'm writing about with such a story. Most of you are aware that I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago. I was also diagnosed thyroid cancer, and my scar's not nearly so cool, nor as large as CB's – a lot has changed in 25 years Mac's appointment with the doctor is what happened to me – I had gone to the doctor for a sinus infection and found out I had a large lump in my throat (this will come up later after the ultrasound, but I'll go ahead and tell you now that my lump was 5cm in width, plus I had several smaller ones). It was the last thing I had expected. The fatigue, the weight problems, the breathing problems along with a few other symptoms – I had all of those going back to the spring before I was diagnosed, and my doctor and I had attributed them to other things. For example, I play the flute in a church choir and I had noticed that summer that I was having to breath more often while I was playing, a problem that I attributed to asthma, even though I wasn't really having any other asthma related issues that summer. In a way, finding out about the lump was a relief, because all these disparate symptoms that I was having all were tied together and it made sense of what was happening to me.

Which brings me to why I set this story at this particular time, specifically a few months after Mac has had a baby. The symptoms that Mac was having in the story were attributed by her to having the baby (mine weren't, but were thought to be related to another medical issue that I did have), and there was no reason for her to think that it was due to something else. Like me in real life, there was no reason for her to suspect something else was wrong, because she could explain the symptoms that she was having. There was an obvious answer for what was going on, so there was no reason to go look for anything else.

And like Mac in the story, I'd never noticed the large lump on my throat, even though it was very obvious once I knew it was there. I had just started the process of buying a house, I was working full time, and attending grad school full time – I didn't have time for this and was determined not to let it put a halt to my life. Mac has other things going on in her life, too, but it's basically the same thing.

And nobody mentioned that they figured out where the title of this story came from, so I'll fill you in. The title comes from a two-part episode during the 8th season of _Little House on the Prairie_. It was supposed to be a happy time in Laura's life – she gave birth to a baby girl – but then Almonzo came down with diphtheria and later had a stroke, and then their house was destroyed by a tornado. Although the timeline was greatly condensed for TV, all this stuff did happen to Laura and Almonzo in real life (read Laura's book _The First Four Years _for the story behind these events). The diphtheria (which Laura also came down with) and Almonzo's stroke happened more than a year after their daughter was born (Rose was sent to stay with her grandparents so she wouldn't become infected). Their house was actually destroyed after the birth and death of their second child (and it was destroyed by fire, not tornado – they escaped the fire with the clothes on their backs, some silverware and a glass bread plate that Laura and Almonzo had bought as a gift for themselves when they first got married – the bread plate can be seen today in a museum in Mansfield, Missouri, where the couple spent most of their married life). But at the end of it all, after everything that had gone wrong in their lives in so short a time, they still had each other and that was the most important thing.

I had always liked the title of the episode "Days of Sunshine, Days of Shadow" because it kind of encapsulates life. There are days when the sun is shining, and there are unfortunately days when the shadows hang over our life. But we can't have the shadows without the sunshine, which means that the sun is out there shining somewhere just around the corner and that hope gives us a reason to get through the bad stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON  
7 AUGUST 2002  
HARM AND MAC'S HOUSE  
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

The house is quiet when I carry in a napping Tori – too quiet. I know Mac is already home because my Corvette is in the garage. I got her message from this morning, but she never answered her cell phone when I tried to call her back and her office phone went to voice mail. I even tried our home phone with the thought that the doctor may have ordered her to stay home today, but I got no answer there either.

I know I shouldn't be worried. A sinus infection isn't that serious, but something just feels wrong about the silence from her. A quick check of the first floor reveals no Mac, but I do find her purse sitting on the coffee table, along with a prescription bottle. Balancing Tori in one arm, I stoop to pick up the bottle and study the label. I don't recognize the name of the medication, but the label is dated today and judging from the directions and number of pills, it seems to be an antibiotic.

"Let's go find your mother," I whisper to Tori. She stirs and stretches a little, but doesn't wake up. I carry her upstairs and, after checking to make sure she doesn't need a diaper change, lay her in her crib to finish her nap while I continue my search for Mac.

After I enter our bedroom, it doesn't take me long to realize where she is. I can hear the bubble and hum of the whirlpool from outside the open bathroom door. I step into the bathroom to find her lying in a tub full of bubbles, her head resting against one of those inflatable pillows, her eyes closed. She doesn't even seem to hear me approach as I sit on the floor next to the tub, taking her hand in mine. "Mac?"

She doesn't say anything or open her eyes, but I know she is awake when she tightens her fingers around mine. "Harm," she murmurs, turning her head toward me. After a moment, her eyes flutter open, her gaze going to our clasped hands.

"Hey, Marine," I say in a cajoling tone. "Did you fall asleep in here?"

"I wasn't asleep," she replies in a tone I can't quite decipher. "I was just thinking."

"Care to share?"

"Just….things," she says hesitantly, still avoiding my gaze.

"I saw your medicine downstairs," I say, trying to draw her out. I can't figure out what's got her so withdrawn, and it's just making that feeling that something is amiss even stronger. "So I guess the doctor said you have a sinus infection."

"Yes," she replies with a shrug. "She told me to stay home today and maybe tomorrow if I still have a fever."

"Maybe Dr. Rabb can fix you up some chicken soup to make you feel better," I joke, but it sounds hollow to my ears. There's something else going on here, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what it could be.

"If only it were that simple," she says softly, her voice catching.

"Mac, look at me," I plead, the worry inside me growing, gnawing in the pitch of my stomach. "Tell me what's wrong."

After a long moment of silence, she finally lifts her eyes, but I find no reassurance there. I find the apprehension I feel reflected back at me, the worry clear in her dark eyes. "Mac, please tell me what it is," I say.

She doesn't reply, but instead lifts the hand she holds to her throat, pressing my fingers against the base of it. Confused, I let her move my fingers over her skin, tracing the outline of….something. My breath catching in my throat, I ask, "What is that?"

Taking a deep breath, she replies in a shaky whisper, "A lump."

"A lump?" I repeat. My brow furrows as I try to figure out what this means. There is only one connection that my mind can make and the worry explodes into full-blown fear. "Like a lump in your breast?"

"Kind of," she says with a slow nod. "Except this lump is on my thyroid."

I stare at her in mute silence for a long moment, trying to process the myriad of thoughts racing through my mind, but one word keeps pushing itself to the forefront. _Please, God, no, not that._ Disregarding the water, the fading bubbles and the fact that I'm still in my uniform, I gather her into my arms and half-lift her out of the tub, pulling her tight against me.

After a moment, she throws her arms around me, clinging to me just as tightly as I am to her, burying her face against my neck. For a long moment, I just hold her, trying to forget everything but the feel of her in my arms, but reality keeps intruding, one word pounding through my head like a mantra, and I find myself blinking back tears.

"It will be okay," she tries to assure me, her voice as shaky as I feel. She pulls back slightly, lifting her gaze to meet mine. "Harm, it will be okay."

I take a deep breath, my fingers playing with her hair as I try to figure out what to say. What does one say in a situation like this? "Is that what the doctor said?" I finally settle on asking.

She hesitates, and I see the uncertainty in her eyes. "We don't know enough yet," she admits. "I had an ultrasound this afternoon at Bethesda. That's why I wasn't able to answer my cell phone when you called and why I asked you to pick up Tori. I wasn't sure how long it would take."

So she did know I tried to call her back. Irrationally, I latch onto that. "Why didn't you call me back?" I demand.

"And say what?" she counters incredulously. "'Harm, I'm at Bethesda because I've got this lump in my throat that may or may not be something.' You don't really expect me to break news like that over the phone, do you?"

It does sound ridiculous when she puts it like that. I guess if our positions were reversed and I had a lump where there shouldn't be one, I would want to break that news in person. I'd need to be able to look her in the eyes and feel our love as I break news of such vital import. "I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head. "I just….Mac, I don't know what to think."

"I know," she says. "I've been lying here trying to figure that out. That's what we do as lawyers, right?"

I nod. Okay, let's try to look at this analytically, try to figure out what all this means and how to deal with it. "I need to know what exactly the doctor said," I say insistently.

"Yeah," she agrees. She looks at me critically and inexplicably burst out laughing. "Maybe we need to put this conversation on hold for a few minutes."

After I give her a confused look, she explains, "I'm sitting naked in a bathtub and your uniform is half-soaked."

I look down at myself in sudden realization and manage a wry chuckle. "It's probably time for the laundry for this one anyway, so no big deal. I just wasn't thinking," I admit as I stand, pulling her up with me. I grab a towel from the rack and wrap it around her as she steps out of the tub.

"Obviously," she remarks, a wicked gleam suddenly appearing in her eyes. It takes me a moment to catch up to the new direction of her thoughts. _Oh_. It's almost funny. I have my wet, naked wife in my arms and the furthest thing from my mind is having my way with her.

"Should I be apologizing?" I ask, trying to keep this light, or my thoughts might get bogged down again.

"Actually, I think it's sweet," she says with a laugh. "And in other circumstances, I probably wouldn't let you leave this room – at least until after I helped you out of those wet clothes."

"I'll keep that in mind for later," I say, trying to clamp down on my body's natural reaction now that the subject's been brought up. I almost wish we could just let nature take its course and worry about everything else later. But later will come too soon and everything else isn't going to go away.

"Get changed," she orders. "Then we'll talk."

In a few minutes, we're curled up together on our bed, Mac's head resting on my shoulder. With a finger, she traces the work 'Marines' on the front of my t-shirt as we lie silently entwined. The red shirt, with white lettering proclaiming 'Property of the United States Marines', was a gift from Mac that I found in my duffel bag after the _SeaHawk_ left Norfolk back in January. I put it on because I thought it might cheer her up, which it obviously did judging from the laughter when she joined me on the bed.

"Okay," she finally says, taking a deep breath. "When the doctor examined me this morning, she said she had seen the lump, so she ran her hands over my throat to feel it." She lifts her hand to her throat, her fingers moving over the lump. "It's so obvious that I can't believe I never realized it was there until Dr. Barber said something."

"I never noticed it either," I say, trying to remember how many times since I've been home that my hands have touched her, my lips have moved over her without realizing there was something wrong. I recall the feeling of the mass when she first pointed it out to me, and wonder how neither of us could have known. "How long has it been there?" As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize how silly that sounds.

"We really have no way of knowing," she points out. "But I would think…."

"It's probably been there a while," I finish for her.

"That's what I would think," she says in a frustrated tone. "I just don't know."

I grab her hand in mine and lift it to my lips, kissing her fingers. "It's okay," I try to assure her as she did me earlier, although I'm far from convinced. But I don't know what else to say. "So the doctor sent you for an ultrasound, obviously."

"Yeah," she continues. "They need to determine if the lump is a cyst or if it's solid."

"What would be the difference?" I ask.

"Well, if it's a cyst," she explains, "it could be drained and that would be pretty much it. Or it may just shrink on its own. Either way, no big deal really. They would keep an eye on things afterwards to make sure it doesn't come back. If it's solid…."

She looks up at me for a long moment, the struggle to find the words being played out in her eyes, before she finally says, "If it's solid, they would probably order a biopsy."

There it is, the nagging fear that's been in the back of my mind from the moment she mentioned the lump. "So it could be….?" I ask hesitantly, trailing off. I can't say it. Not yet.

"It's probably not," she answers quickly – maybe too quickly. How can she know that for sure?

"Mac…."

"Harm," she says, "the doctor said that most women have these nodules without even knowing it and about 50 percent of people overall. And the larger it is, the more likely it is to be a cyst. More than 95% of these things turn out to be benign."

I try to take comfort in the statistics she's citing. It does make sense. I just never expected anything like this to happen – not to us. Everything in our lives is finally going right. We have each other and Tori. I made it out of the Persian Gulf. My career may be on pause right now, Silver Star notwithstanding, but I know that is only temporary. After everything that we've been through the last year, this was supposed to be our time to sit back and just be.

Unfortunately, I can't push the worst case scenario from my mind. It's the lawyer in me. I have to make sure that my clients are fully aware of the absolute worst that could happen if things don't go their way. Only we're not in court and we can't argue our way out of this one.

"Anyway," she finally continues when I don't say anything, "if it is solid, they would remove it surgically, cancer or not. It's too large to just leave. It could impact my breathing because of the location of the thyroid wrapped around the windpipe."

At that, my mind travels back to an incident that seemed of little importance at the time. We had gone for a run two weeks ago, our first together since my return, taking advantage of an offer from Harriet to babysit – probably offered as much to keep herself busy as to allow Mac and I some time alone together. Since Mac needs to be in shape for her PFT by October, and she's been so exhausted recently, she thought going on a run together would help motivate her.

By about halfway through, she seemed to be gasping for breath more than she should considering we weren't going full out. She had brushed it off at the time, reminding me that it had been a long time since she'd exercised that hard. That explanation did make sense – still does – but what if it was something else?

"Like when we were out running?" I ask.

"The doctor did say it could be related," she replies. "With a mass of this size…." She trails off with a shrug. "It could also be impacting the function of my thyroid."

"Which does what, exactly?" I haven't the slightest idea. What little anatomy I might have been exposed to was at least twenty years ago.

"Controls metabolism," she says. After another moment, she adds, "It could explain some other things, like why I'm tired all the time or why I'm having problems losing all my baby weight. The blood work from my physical last week should show whether that's the case or not. Anyway, I would think that would be resolved once the lump is taken care of."

Like her breathing issues, she'd also chalked up her fatigue and weight to aftereffects from pregnancy. Things that once seemed to make sense suddenly don't anymore. "So what would surgery entail?"

"If it's benign," she says, "they just remove the mass. But as long as it's not causing too many problems, at least compared to now, I can probably delay the surgery. I don't really want to have surgery when Tori is so young."

Obviously, having her throat cut open to remove a lump is no minor thing, but I'm not sure if I like the idea of delay and tell her so. "Mac, if you need to have surgery, go ahead and have it. It's not like I can't take care of Tori and you."

She props herself up on her elbow. "Harm, it's not that," she says with exasperation. "It's not you at all. I don't doubt that you could take care of both of us, even at the expense of driving yourself to exhaustion."

"Then what…?"

"I'm still breastfeeding," she reminds me. "And I don't really want to stop, not yet. I'd thought I'd go until she's a year old, but if not….I'm not going to stop at three and a half months, either, for what would essentially be elective surgery at this time."

"I never thought of that," I admit. I know Tori has never been near a bottle of formula, which I agree with due to the health benefits. But I'd never really thought about how long Mac would be nursing her and it hadn't occurred to me to ask. I know she mentioned recently during a trip to the Commissary thinking about starting her on solid foods once she's four to five months old depending on her next visit to the pediatrician – I had expressed curiosity while we were in the baby aisle stocking up on diapers - but that's still at least two weeks off, so I haven't really thought about what that would entail. Of course she would still need milk and not the stuff the adults drink.

She sighs. "I'm sorry," she says, resting her head on my chest again. "I didn't mean to snap. I've just been thinking about nothing but this all day since the doctor first mentioned surgery. Anyway, there's work to consider. We're still shorthanded and I don't really want to tell the Admiral I need to take a few weeks off to have surgery just a few months after taking six weeks' maternity leave."

"I guess that's true," I reply. If things were different, I could help there, but I can't. Damned bureaucrats.

"I'd want to delay surgery until probably after the beginning of the year," she continues. "At least by then, Tori should be pretty established on solid foods plus able to drink juice, so it would be easier to stop nursing. Plus I hope by then the Admiral and I will have been able to find some people to bring into headquarters to take up the existing shortfall."

"What if you can't delay?" I ask uncertainly.

"You mean what if it's cancer?" she blurts out.

I inhale sharply at the word. That's the first either of us have mentioned it in this conversation, although it's been hanging over us like a thundercloud the entire time. "Yeah," I agree quietly. "What if it's cancer?"

"That would obviously add some urgency," she says so matter-of-factly that she might have been talking about something mundane and not the fact that she might be seriously ill. "I don't know exactly how soon it would have to happen. I just know that surgery would be a little more involved, because they'd have to remove the entire thyroid."

"What about…?" I trail off, unable to complete the thought.

"Chemo? Radiation?" she concludes. She shrugs. "I don't know yet. The doctor at the clinic is just a primary care physician, so she couldn't tell me much. She kept trying to emphasize that most of these are benign. She did say I'd have to see an ENT about the surgery. I suppose I could do some research online, but….there's so much going through my mind right now that I'm still trying to sort it all out."

I've known about this for less than an hour and my mind is spinning. I can just imagine how this has been weighing on her all day. "Research," I repeat. Research is good. Then we'll know more about what we're dealing with. And I know the perfect person who can help with that. "I can ask Bud for…."

"I'd prefer you didn't," she interrupts, pulling out of my arms and sitting up, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

"Mac?" I ask, confused. I sit up and move back next to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. She's so tense, and she sighs softly as I begin kneading the taunt muscles.

"I don't want to say anything to anyone yet," she says. "There's probably nothing to explain, anyway. It's probably all going to turn out to be nothing to worry about. There's no sense in troubling everyone else, too, unless there's actually something to worry about."

"Are you sure?" I ask. I'm tempted to argue the point, but as much as I want to talk to someone right now – my grandmother comes immediately to mind – I suppose it is her decision, as little as I may like it.

She pulls away, turning to look at me, obviously sensing the hesitation in my voice. "Harm," she says insistently, grabbing my hands, "you can talk to me."

"I am talking to you," I counter. Where is she going with that?

"That's not what I mean," she reassures me. "It's not an accusation. I just want to know what you're feeling."

"I don't know what I'm feeling right now," I admit, trying to push aside the flicker of hurt that it occurred to her that I might not talk to her about this. I guess it's an understandable fear given the past, but surely we've moved past that after everything we've been through. "There's so much to think about…."

She sighs. "I'm right there with you," she says. "I went to the doctor for a sinus infection. A sinus infection, Harm. I never expected…." She pulls a hand free and waves it in frustration.

Wrapping my arm around her, I pull her into my lap. She snuggles into my embrace, closing her eyes as she rests her head against my shoulder. I close my eyes, too, losing myself in the feel of her body against mine, the faint smell of vanilla clinging to her from the bubble bath. "Mac," I say after a moment.

"Hmmm?"

"I love you." I know she knows that, but it seems so important right now to say the words. It might give her some comfort to hear them right now.

"I know," she says, "and I love you, too." I feel her move and open my eyes to find her looking at me, an indecipherable look in her eyes. After a brief moment, she closes the distance between us, her lips pressing softly against mine. She shifts in my lap so that she's straddling me, her body pressing against mine as she deepens the kiss, her hands sliding under my shirt, fingernails scraping my back as she grinds her hips against mine.

She tears her mouth from mine, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she starts to lift my shirt up. I start to lift my arms to help her, but we're interrupted by a sharp cry from the baby monitor on the dresser.

We stare at each other then burst out laughing. At least this hadn't moved along very far yet – we've been interrupted at even more inopportune moments. It took me just over a day after coming home to find out that taking care of a baby and wanting to have sex with my wife can and will conflict.

Mac gives me a quick kiss and slides gracefully off my lap as I glance at the alarm clock. It's dinner time. I guess with everything, even Mac lost track of the time. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she promises.

I lie back on the bed, listening as Mac moves around in the nursery while I try to calm myself. It all sounds so normal, so common place, even as her life has possibly been turned upside down. I guess it's a good thing. Maybe having Tori will help keep her from dwelling too much. I know it's not quite the same, but Harriet confided that she didn't know what she'd do with herself if she didn't have AJ to chase after.

After a few minutes, I realize that I haven't heard anything from the baby monitor for a while. I'm about to get up and go look for my girls when Mac comes back into the bedroom with tears in her eyes, trying to get Tori to take a bottle, which she'd gone downstairs to retrieve, explaining the silence. Tori turns her head away, flailing as Mac tries to put the nipple in her mouth.

"Hey," I say, holding out my hands, "want me to do that?" She hesitates a moment then hands Tori over, sitting down next to me with a heavy sigh.

"I thought since we had plenty of bottles prepared," she explains, "and I'm still running a fever that I would give her a bottle, but she doesn't seem to want to take it from me." Her assertion seems to be proved when Tori stops fussing after a moment and takes the bottle from me.

"She's just used to getting it from a different source with you," I point out. "It's a change. If there's a reason to, she'll get used to it."

"I know," she said. "It's just a little frustrating after today, like it's just one more thing that I didn't need right now."

"Hey," I say, motioning awkwardly with one hand while trying to juggle baby and bottle. Mac leans against my side, linking her arm through mine. "Weren't you the one who was saying that it's probably nothing to worry about?"

She smiles weakly at me. "I wasn't very convincing, was I?"

"Whatever happens, we will get through it," I vow. "Together."

"Is that a promise?"

"Of course it is," I reply. I've made her more than one promise over the years, going all the way back to the beginning when I promised to do everything I could for her uncle while protecting her. The two most important are the one I made just over seven months ago and the one embodied in the little girl in my arms. This promise is simply an extension of those. It's about our family.

"We do make a pretty good team," she says. She lifts one of Tori's hands with a finger, Tori's tiny fingers curling around hers, clinging tightly.

"Always, Sarah," I say, tightening my arm around her. "Always."

* * *

Author's notes - In the next part, look for Mac to get the results of her ultrasound and to find herself having to tell the Admiral what's going on.

On another note, I found my story outline for 'Searching For Sunny Skies'. I may work on that next (before going back to the next part of DOALS) - I can see the next scene playing out in my head. It's going to be very emotionally trying for Mac. The next scene is actually a continuation of part 7, which has already been posted, so it is still going to be from Mac's point of view. If all goes well, I'll have that for you soon.


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